The One Thing That Stays Mine
by singyourmelody
Summary: Post HSM 3. Kelsi/Ryan. Life at Julliard. "I never feel quite as alive as when I’m with you and we are creating music together. And I know you feel it too," he said softly. Oneshot.


**The One Thing That Stays Mine **

by: singyourmelody

Disclaimer: I own nothing related to High School Musical or Jimmy Eat World's amazing song "23," from which the title was taken. Sigh. Writing these disclaimers always makes me feel poor!

0~0~0

If she ever admitted it to herself, she would know it had been coming on for six years.

Six years of hard work. Six years of constant composing, even through the dry spell of '09 when everything she created sounded like David Bowie had a run-in with the Farmer in the Dell.

Six years of intense training. Of memorizing classical forms and techniques and of trying not to lose her unique writing style while emulating these ancient forms.

Six years of making friends with people who had none of the same interests as she did.

Six years of reaching outside of her comfort zone.

Six years of watching him.

She didn't even realize she was doing it really. He was his sister's lapdog and she was conveniently concealed behind the hat.

But somewhere between playing and hiding, she started watching him. And she couldn't help but secretly cheer when he stood up to his sister, finally_,_ and when he started socializing with other people, _finally_, and when he started developing into his own person without his sister's "guiding" force. _Finally_.

She didn't know why, but she was proud of him. And maybe a little jealous. If he could just be him, then why couldn't she just be her?

The spring musical senior year changed it all. She knew it would and it was scary and exhilarating all at the same time. It was her turn to break out of the shadow. Throw away the hat. And she did it. She didn't know how, but she composed an entire musical. The most she had ever done. And he was right beside her. Offering suggestions. Choreographing dances and making her enact them with him, just to "see how it would look," he had said.

They worked well together. She was the Lois Lane to his Superman. If Superman had traded in his cape for a pastel paisley hat, that is. He always seemed to know how to work out the knots in her melodies or what to do when she wrote herself into a musical corner. And she even managed to help him with a few of his dances that were a bit too complex for the average East High Wildcat. "Not everyone can make the jazz square look so, um, so square," she had said, letting her hair fall over her face to hide her blushing cheeks. Was that supposed to be an attempt at flirting? She didn't want to answer that question. But when he reached over and lifted her chin with his hand, forcing her to look him in the eyes, she thought that maybe, just maybe, they were the great team she had envisioned.

Graduation changed things again. She wanted to go to Julliard, she thought. But as she watched the spring musical from her perch at the piano, she could see how much he deserved to be the one to win the scholarship. It was as if his whole life had been building up to this opportunity to train with the best. So when the director called her name, she felt a rush of excitement followed by shock, followed by a twinge of sadness and guilt. Until she heard that she wouldn't be headed to New York alone.

The summer after graduation found the two of them spending almost every day together. Writing songs and musical numbers and dreaming about four years in the Big Apple. His sister would tag along sometimes and by his command, she suspected, was nicer than ever before.

Suitcases packed, they headed to New York to start their new lives, together and apart, in a place that held everything they could have ever needed.

"Is he your boyfriend?" her new roommate had asked after he had spent the third straight day holed up with her in her dorm room. She was surprised by the question, yet wasn't quite sure how to answer. They spent more time together than most couples and she felt like she knew him better than anyone. But the more time she spent with him, the more she wasn't sure where the relationship fell. Was it possible to love someone and yet not be in love with them? Was she even being honest with herself in asking that question? Didn't she already know the answer?

For her birthday, he took her to see "Wicked" on Broadway. She had never seen anything more amazing on stage and told him so as he walked her back to her dorm room. He grinned from ear to ear and as she searched through her bag for her room key, she did something completely out of character. Forgetting about the key and dropping her bag to her side, she faced him head on and asked why they weren't together.

His smiled faded and his eyebrows furrowed as he stared at the floor. She knew instantly that her once-in-a-lifetime-out-of-character move was the wrong one and that she had probably ruined her relationship with her best friend. Searching for her room key, she mumbled about how they were better off as friends and that she was just being ridiculous and that of course they were best friends for life and why would they want to jeopardize that when they had such a good thing going and how they shouldn't be involved anyway because if she is going to compose music for his shows then they should keep it strictly professional. Finding the key she quickly thanked him for the show and slipped into the room, trying to forget that she had ever thought there could be something more.

Following that night, she immersed herself completely in her studies. He tried to talk to her for a while about that night, but after the seventeenth call sent to voicemail, he got the hint. She didn't want to go back and she definitely didn't want to talk about what had or hadn't happened. He moved on. So did she. Her perfect marks on her first piano recital were proof that this was what she needed. She was excelling in school, her parents were oh so proud, and she was on the fast track to being the next Cole Porter.

Kelsi Nielsen was twenty-two years old when Ryan Evans walked back into her life. Sure they had been at the same school, but she was surprised how easy it had been to avoid him. Periodically she would hear others talking about his dancing, his singing, his acting, his ideas, and every so often she couldn't help but indulge herself for a while. He was succeeding in everything he did. She always knew he would. And like the shy young girl who once hid behind a piano at East High, she was proud of him.

It was a rainy Saturday and she was eager to practice. She had had a melody stuck in her head for days and had finally figured out the correct chord sequence to make it work. As she opened the door to her favorite practice room, she dropped all of her music when she saw him sitting at her piano. Dressed in a navy blue hoodie, jeans, and sneakers, hair slightly tousled, he looked nothing like the melodramatic teenager who had ruled the drama department of high school.

"Wh-what?" she stuttered.

"You are a hard person to track down," he said, a boyish grin tugging at his lips. He placed his fingers on the keys and began playing a song she recognized, but couldn't quite place.

"What are you doing here? In my practice room?" she said, finally forming complete sentences.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said, in a mocking tone. "Was your name on the door?"

"Well, no, but, I always practice here. That's my teapot on the windowsill over there, and my lucky bamboo plant, and this is my biography of Tchaikovsky," she said, gesturing to the book sitting on top of the piano.

He turned to look at her, sliding his fingers off the keys. Although she still couldn't place the song, she mourned its loss. The silence that sat between them seemed so much colder than the light melody that had previously filled the space.

"Well, then I guess I'll leave you to it," he said, getting up and opening the door. She closed her eyes. He was here. She didn't know why, but she didn't want him to leave either.

"Wait." She said defiantly. He stopped and turned around. "The song. The one you were just playing. It was the first one we sang together, wasn't it?"

He smiled a small smile. "You remember."

"Of course," she said softly. The stood in silence for a few seconds. "Ryan," she asked. "Why are you here?"

He walked over and sat down on the piano bench. "I need your help."

"You need my help?" she asked, a tone of disbelief in her voice.

"Yes, I need your help."

"With what?" she asked incredulously. "You are Ryan Evans. You have straight A's here, your teachers can't stop raving about you, and someone said there have been a few Broadway agents coming to your performances."

As she said those words, his eyebrows shot up. She turned away, blushing. She didn't know where that came from, but suddenly she wanted to fade into the ink that lined her music.

"Someone's been paying attention, huh?" He asked, smiling even more.

"Well, you know, all that practice room gossip…" she said trailing off and trying not to feel as idiotic as the time she told him his jazz square was very square.

"Never mind that. I'm working on my senior project," he stated.

"Already? Most students in our year haven't even figured out what they are going to do yet."

"I know it's early, but I was struck with an idea so strange and yet fascinating that I knew that this was _it_."

"For choreography?" she questioned.

"I will be choreographing, yes, and I've found an amazing composer to really bring my idea to life." He looked at her expectantly.

She stared back at him for a minute before shaking her head. "Oh, no, no, no, you can't expect me to—"

"Why not, Kels?" he said, using her nickname for the first time in almost three years. "See I was thinking that we could combine our senior projects, you composing and me choreographing."

She stared at him. "Ryan, I haven't composed anything that big in scope since—"

"Senior year," he finished. "Don't you think you're overdue for a big, sweeping, all-encompassing, life changing musical? And besides, we worked so well together. We got into Julliard with that performance. Think about what we could do now that we've almost finished our training. . ."

She bit her thumbnail, something she hadn't done in years. Were all of her bad habits going to come back with Ryan Evans?

"If I say yes to this. . ." she said tentatively.

"I think you just did," he said, with a grin so wide it looked like his face would split in two. He reached down and enveloped her in the biggest hug she had ever received. "This is going to be amazing," he whispered in her ear.

Within two days, her practice room had become "their" practice room. Ryan had moved in a change of clothes ("In case I'm ever too tired to actually make it back to my apartment," he had reasoned), his Star Dazzle award ("The first thing I ever won for choreography," he stated), and a shelf full of "The Classics." From that day on, the songs and dances of "Singing in the Rain," "Brigadoon," "The Music Man," "Grease," and her personal favorite, "Meet Me in St. Louis" were constantly pumping through her veins as he dissected his favorite parts of the routines and revealed his speculations about the composers' and choreographers' intentions.

By the second week, they had settled into a quasi-normal routine. He would usually arrive at their room around seven in the morning and start a pot of coffee. When she asked why he had given up tea, he simply said that he had to "Go big or go home" and that coffee was what he needed to achieve that. She would get there by eight, eight thirty, or nine. She needed her sleep like he needed his coffee. They made it work, in their own little way.

The next months flew by as they composed, choreographed and practiced. His dream, his big idea was to create the next great musical in the vein of "The Classics." She couldn't help but be excited at his grand scheme, as composing a musical had always been their plan, back before everything had become strained.

The last month of composing was especially wearisome. Although they had rekindled a sort of friendship, it was still very fragile. They had agreed on everything up until the ending of the show. He wanted the main characters to end up together. She wasn't so sure it was that easy.

"We've been building up to this for three whole Acts, Kelsi. We don't want this to bomb because we are trying to be 'artsy,'" he said, his voice rising with every word.

"Artsy? ARTSY?" she replied, in disbelief. "Who are you to say I'm being 'artsy,' Ryan? I'm trying to be realistic to James and Elena, to their characters and to their character development. They've been completely estranged. Why would they all of a sudden fall into each other's arms and live happily ever after? What about the reasons they were not together in the first place? What about the unresolved issues?" she stood to face him, not backing down.

"They are a great love story. They don't need realism. This is a _musical_ for crying out loud! What's realistic about a musical?" he countered.

"Our audience is going to hate us! Because they won't believe it. Would you? Honestly?"

"Oh, we are going for honesty now? Hmm, here's some honesty for you: yes, they will believe it. Because they are invested in these characters, just like we are. And they want to see them happy. Why can't you let them be happy?"

"What, so now, I'm like the happiness- killer?" she quipped.

"Yes, you suck the joy out of everything!" he snapped.

She stood there stunned. "You know what? You're right. Clearly I want James and Elena to be miserable. So you know what? I'm done. Finish it yourself." She grabbed her music and headed to the door, tears filling her eyes.

She didn't make it all the way out however, before he grabbed her arm. "Kels—" he said softly, turning her around to look at him.

"I'm sorry." They both said simultaneously. The inevitable awkward laugh was made more awkward when he reached up and brushed a tear off of her cheek. She inhaled quickly before stepping away from him and wiped her eyes quickly.

"I'm such a girl," she said, trying to laugh. As he looked at her, she could swear she saw something different in his eyes. A fondness that hadn't been there before, not even during that summer after their graduation.

"Ryan, I gotta go. We'll finish this tomorrow, okay?" she said, grabbing her things and hurrying out the door, leaving a silent Ryan to contemplate what had just happened.

Opening night found her about ready to jump out of her skin. She wanted it to be over. She wanted it to never start. She wanted to see what months of her work had accumulated into. Really, she couldn't decide what she wanted.

He had reserved two seats for them, towards the middle and slightly left of the stage, because as he said, they needed to see what the audience saw the night of the performance. As they sat there, waiting for the curtain to go up, she twisted her program into a crumpled ball. He leaned over and whispered, "Remember what I told you when I asked you to do this with me?"

She nodded her head, "You said it was going to be amazing."

"It is," he reassured. He reached over and grabbed her hand as the lights dimmed. "Here goes."

Kelsi was in awe of their finished program. The lights. The costumes. The music. The writing. Everything was perfect. What had been born in their tiny practice room now flourished to life with an energy and zeal she could had never expected. As the closing curtain dropped on their show, she pulled him into a hug. "It was," was all she could say.

He beamed back at her and was pulled away by his class advisor who wanted to introduce him to some of his contacts. Kelsi smiled as she saw Ryan's future basically laid out before him. She didn't get to talk to him the entire rest of the night as they were both too busy being congratulated by audience members and fellow students. Every so often she would glance at him and always found his eyes trained on her.

As she walked back to her apartment that night, she knew that this was one of those defining moments of her life. Her first real show had been a smash and she would soon be graduating from college. A member from a production company had talked to her after the performance about the possibility of interning there over the summer. Maybe Ryan wasn't the only one with career options after all.

Later that night, a pestering knock on her bedroom window startled her awake. She looked at the clock and saw that it was after 2:00 a.m. Moving towards the window, she peeled back the curtain and saw him standing outside her window in the rain. Throwing on a sweatshirt and some flip flops, she hurried outside.

"What's wrong, Ryan? Is somebody hurt?" she asked quickly, her eyes not completely open yet.

"What? Oh no, no. I just, um, I had to talk to you."

"Now?" she asked, as her eyes met his. "It's 2:00 a.m. and it's pouring rain."

"I know. _I know_." He said, as if frustrated with something. "Why did you let me win?" he suddenly asked.

"Huh?"

"Why did you give in and let me put James and Elena together at the end?" he said, water running off of his nose. Through the shadow from the lamplight, she could see that his brow was furrowed.

"I don't know, Ryan. It meant so much to you. It was kinda your baby. And besides, I didn't let you win. You let me build up their reconciliation so that it wasn't so immediate and out of nowhere. I think it turned out believable still, don't you? The audience certainly seemed to think so tonight," she finished. She could not, for the life of her, see where he was going with all of this.

"Oh, well, I suppose you are right," he conceded. "I just thought, that maybe you thought, that, um. . ." They stood there for a minute in silence, getting completely drenched by the rain.

She turned to go back inside.

"I wasn't ready."

"What?" she asked, turning to face him.

"That night, your birthday. You asked why we weren't together. I wasn't ready then."

"But, but, I thought. . . I thought you didn't feel the same way—"

"Of course I did, Kels. I just wasn't fully aware of any of it yet. I didn't know me yet. How could I truly know someone else when I didn't know who I was? I know it sounds stupid now and to think of the years we didn't even talk, but, I guess that's in the past. What I'm trying to say is that, I never meant to hurt you. But I also never feel quite as alive as when I'm with you and we are creating music together. And I know you feel it too. I think when you open yourself up to that kind of passion, you open yourself to the possibility of hurt as well. Deep down, I always knew it would be you, Kelsi. I just didn't know the timing. And I, selfishly, wanted to be the one who decided when it would happen for us."

Kelsi stood there silently staring at him.

"I'm going to ask you again: why did you let James and Elena get together at the end?"

"Why did you want them together so badly?" she countered back at him.

"Because," he said quietly, "sometimes it's just meant to be." He placed his forehead on hers and the two stood there for a minute before he brought her lips to his own. After a few moments, she pulled back and looked at him.

"And sometimes it takes a little while to get there. But they get there, Ryan. They do," she said interlocking their fingers, as she pulled him inside.

_A/N: So, I am done! Yay! This was quite lengthy, so for those of you who have made it this far: congratulations! You win a Star Dazzle award—go do a few jazz squares in celebration. Thanks so much for reading and please, please review. Love to all. _


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